Missing or Murdered Read Online Free PDF Page A

postman, the affair would have been important news to a modern daily paper. That he was a well-known peer almost raised the mystery to the level of “Beautiful London Girl of Eighteen Missing” in terms of headline and public interest.
    George Lawless couldn’t for the life of him understand why Lord Bygrave should disappear, and he lost his temper thoroughly over the whole business. It was unsatisfactory and altogether unintelligible. People who stayed at the White Bear Inn, even though they were titled folk, were expected to behave like ordinary human beings in a common-sense, reasonable manner. Lawless was not annoyed that Lord Bygrave had gone without paying his bill; for in his room was a portmanteau with boots and clothes, and on the wash-hand-stand he had carelessly left a heavy, gold signet-ring with a crest cut in intaglio. On this property Lawless felt that he had a lien—it was quite sufficient security for a bed and breakfast. What had angered George Lawless was the behaviour of Police Sergeant Bailey. It had been inquisitorial. He had asked endless and seemingly irrelevant questions, and conducted himself with an air of importance and secrecy that were noxious to a degree—especially in an ordinary village police sergeant. When he had been about to depart he had informed the proprietor of the White Bear Inn that Detective-Inspector Heather of Scotland Yard would be down in the afternoon to make further investigations.
    â€œWhat the dooce does he expect to find?” George Lawless had asked irritably. “Does he suspect I’ve done the gent in?”
    Sergeant Bailey felt that this question was merely a verbal diffusion of pent-up irritability, and did not condescend to reply. When he had gone Lawless let himself go in a full-blooded effectual way that was comforting to himself but withering to the police force in general and to Sergeant Bailey in particular. Remembering the cause of the trouble, his mind reverted once more to Lord Bygrave.
    â€œThese London folk—more trouble than they’re d—d well worth! Never satisfied with a decent bed and plain food, but always asking for something you ain’t got and wot’s not good for ’em in any case. Not that his lordship asked for much—in fact he went to the opposite extreme and asked for nothing , which is worse still. Then he’s one of them blokes who goes chasing butterflies like a kid of ten. Nice occupation for a grown man! S’elp me if I don’t think he wasn’t quite right in the head. And now he goes missing. ’Pon my soul, I don’t know what the country’s coming to!”
    In the afternoon Detective-Inspector Heather arrived, and at once sought out the landlord of the White Bear. George Lawless had by this time resigned himself to the inevitable. He showed the officer into his own little parlour, from which he used to emerge into the bar at stated times and on specific occasions. It was a small room, comfortably furnished, according to the indeterminate ideas of Lawless about furnishing, with a small window looking on to the garden behind the inn. Inspector Heather settled himself comfortably in an arm-chair and lit a pipe.
    â€œAt what time on Friday night did Mr. Darnell, or rather Lord Bygrave, arrive here, Mr. Lawless?”
    â€œAbout half-past nine. He came by the train arriving here at 9.15.”
    â€œDid he fill in the usual forms?”
    â€œNo. After he’d had his supper I thought it was too late to trouble him with the forms that night, and he’d left the inn before I saw him next morning.”
    â€œWhen did he leave next morning?”
    â€œAbout half-past eight: he had breakfast at eight, and told Mary Standish that he’d be back for lunch.”
    â€œAh, that’s important. He intended to return. Did you notice anything peculiar in his manner overnight?”
    â€œNo. He seemed tired and after his supper drank a double whisky